all but lost
by funny-tragic-mess
Summary: Gemma was raised by her grandfather, moving from campsite to campsite, never really caring about anything until her grandfather was brutally murdered and a certain witch attempted to unleash her maternal instincts upon her.
1. Beginning

Gemma had never meant to create instability in the campgrounds or in anyone's lives, for that matter; it just sort of happened in a slew of exponentially quick events, too fast to count by any numeric reasoning, and inexplicable even to those who participated.

Predictably, her grandfather was absolutely furious, his bushy white eyebrows furrowed together in an expression that damned onlookers to be forever unfortunate-at least, that was how Gem interpreted it. Generally speaking, her grandfather only exerted his emotional palette under extreme duress, making his then current outburst strangely inappropriate. After all, he had raised her to be a strong, independent protestor of the generic evils of the Western World, as well as an explorer of the bizarre and obscure wonders of the known universe. Her room in their trailer was filled with shelves covered with oddities that she had discovered by the railroad tracks near the campsite-little bits of paper covered with indecipherable writing in scratchy black pen, different petrified forms of salamanders, an-it was truthfully the ultimate prize in her expansive collection-what appeared to be a wand shattered into multiple fragmentations. All of these things, along with her grandfather's quiet yet stern demeanor, led up to her blossoming into a young academic with little to worry about, until now.

"Gemma," whispered the brawny, far too well built man as he gripped the shoulders of his comrade and grandchild, who was quick to realize that she had misinterpreted his expression entirely, "you need to run."

Only once before had he told her to do so with such vigor, and Gemma tried to think of any reason why this would be necessary, a slight squint affixing itself to her charcoal eyes. "Granddad, what did-"

A loud scream pierced the air, and suddenly, a blast of fire erupted from nowhere and ripped into their trailer. "Please," said her grandfather, handing her a long, thin box that he had seemingly retrieved from nowhere. "You have to leave, now."

He kissed her on the forehead and went to the shed where his firearms were stored, and Gemma began to run.

The forest surrounding the campsite was thick with smoke and almost electric flashes of light, incoherent shouts from whatever was assaulting them, and snowflakes of ash. Gemma felt herself grow dizzy from the exertion and tried to breathe regularly, snot running down her face as she crouched behind a tree and opened the box. Inside was something that looked like an ornately carved wand (far better than the gimmick-filled toys Gemma had played with as a child) that almost radiated heat at the touch. "Wow," she whispered, completely distracted in the moment, her fingertips brushing over the grips. "What in the world-?"

Suddenly, someone grabbed her shoulders and pulled her off of the ground. "Who are you?" demanded the masked figure in a low growl. "Suppose you were trying to run off, weren't you?"

"Well, obviously," said Gemma, shoving the wand into her back pocket. "I didn't exactly want to stay around and get burnt to a crisp."

"Little bitch," said the man, ripping off his mask. His face was lined with scars and he almost appeared feral. "You're coming with me."

He grabbed her by the hair and begin to yank her back to the campsite. "Let me go," said Gemma, trying to release herself. "Please!"

The man didn't answer and threw her to the ground, placing his boot onto her back. "Move and you're dead."

Gemma bit her lip and glanced up, still flat on her belly. Another masked figure-this one clearly female-strode into the clearing where she had grown up, followed by an entourage of other similarly clad hooded figures, armed with something that didn't necessarily seem real.

The woman in black sauntered past the burning wreckage (and with Gemma's growing horror) and grabbed her grandfather, pulling him up to be in full view of the surrounding following. He was bleeding heavily, his spectacles broken and imbedded into the left side of his face, his hunting digs ripped and charred. He looked up, more disoriented than he had ever been in Gemma's childhood, and began to try to fight off his assailant.

"Wulfric," drawled the woman in a smoky contralto, grip tightening on his shoulders. "I completely underestimated you, my friend."

The man's boot dug a little deeper into Gemma's back, and she bit her lower lip and tried to stop trembling. Her grandfather mumbled something completely inaudible.

"F-f-fuck you," coughed her grandfather, a man who never used foul language in front of anyone. In response, the lady in black laughed and breezily brushed her wand (because really, it couldn't be anything else) across the mask. It disappeared into smoke, and Gemma wanted to scream.

"Oh, darling, I'd love to, but I'm afraid that would ruin everything," she said, her eyes burning like twin coals. "Now, after all these years, I'm sure you'd like to be informed of something-"

"I honestly do not care to hear your pleasantries," coughed Wulfric, blood appearing at his lips. "But due to being a g-g-gentleman, I must endure."

The woman growled pointed her wand at his throat. "Your sons are dead," she sang, appearing to be somewhere between deranged and hysterical, her tone tainted with something more than anger. "Poor 'Stan couldn't live with the mere thought of never escaping. Slit his wrists, bled all over the floor…"

She dug her high heeled boot into his upper thigh. "You would know that, right, being such a good father?"

"My sons were corrupted," said Wulfric, gasping for air.

"Isn't it funny," she continued, "that you never let Roddy even see her?"

Wulfric's eyes were bulging. "Wasn't-wasn't his to see," he exasperated. "Or yours, you whore."

Her fist smashed into the side of his face. "Where is she."

He didn't answer. The man placed a little more pressure onto Gemma's back, and her eyes stung.

"Wulfric. Where is she?" said the lady in black, her voice slightly strangled.

His eyes were vacant, and Gemma waited. "Not-not telling."

She screamed and there was a blinding flash of green light. For a moment, Gemma couldn't see anything; then, her grandfather was lying on the ground, completely still.

"No," she said as a man with a sleek mane of blond hair rushed up to the woman who killed her grandfather, putting his hands on her shoulders as she hung her head. "You-"

"QUIET," roared the man above her, and all she could see was stars. "Malfoy, I found this in the woods. Can I have some fun with her?"

Gemma couldn't breathe, but Malfoy-who she could only assume was the blond man-soon was approaching her. She could only see his boots until he stooped down and looked at her face. He blinked once, then twice, then stood back up and walked back to the corpse. "Bellatrix," he murmured, "correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe what we've been searching for is underneath Greyback's foot."

A blast of cool air whistled above her head, and the pressure was alleviated. Gemma gasped, trying to get up, but someone was examining her, looking at her hands, her face, her hair. She wanted to fight, but the lady in black was stroking her tangled short hair, looking at her face with a tearful expression. "Darling," she whispered, smoothing back her bangs. "Why didn't you fight him?"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Gemma, attempting to push the killer off, wanting to strangle her with every fiber of her being. "You just killed Granddad, do you actually believe-"

Bellatrix's eyes widened drastically. "He never told you about me?"

"Ha, funny," said Gemma, glancing over at her grandfather's body. "Because he would be the type to tell me all about his future murderer, who would be completely insane and be magic or something stupid or maybe I'm just dreaming and this is all just a really horrible-"

Bellatrix wasn't listening. "Lucius," she mumbled, looking stunned. "She doesn't know. How-how could he-"

"Wulfric did go downhill after everything," said Lucius, eyeballing Gemma. "Then again, she could be a Squib."

Gemma squealed as Bellatrix smothered her in an embrace. "What kind of monster was he?" she said hysterically, clutching onto the girl in a state of utter frenzy. "He didn't tell her about us, about her blood, about magic-"

"Calm yourself, Bellatrix," said Lucius, lighting a cigarette. "She still can learn."

"That bastard!" howled Bellatrix, squeezing Gemma. "How dare he raise her like an idiot Muggle?"

What the hell is a Muggle? thought Gemma, struggling to get out of Bellatrix's arms. She had always been small, maybe even impish in appearance, but she simply could not escape the prison of fabric and muscle that belonged to the arms of her attacker.

"You could never trust Lestrange," continued Lucius with the condescending tone only the upper class can have. "He was completely ridiculous when it came to Mudblood policies…I'm surprised Rodolphus even turned out all right."

"What is the Dark Lord going to think?" demanded Bellatrix, and Gemma could hear her heartbeat rattling in her ribcage. "Oh, God, Lucius, she was supposed to be a prodigy. I should've never-"

"Don't blame yourself, Bella. I really can't stand your self loathing."

At that exact moment, Gemma dug her teeth into Bellatrix's wrist and catapulted herself off of the ground towards her grandfather's body. "Granddad, please be alive, please be alive," she muttered as she checked for a pulse. "Please let this be a dream, please let this be a dream-"

"For the love of Slytherin, please stop making a fool of yourself," said Lucius, lifting her up by the shoulders and holding her against him while she struggled exponentially. "He's dead, child. Dead. It's not like the Killing Curse doesn't live up to its name."

Bellatrix strolled towards them, blood running down the length of her hand. Her expression kept bouncing back between pain and fear and something far too disturbing to be called love, and she linked hands with Lucius. "To the Manor."

Lucius shrugged, and suddenly everything felt constricted. Gemma couldn't breathe, let alone look at her surroundings, and then it was over and she was standing in front of an iron wrought gate, swallowing huge gulps of air, barely able to stay upright. Her captors looked completely undeterred by whatever had happened, and Lucius waved his wand and murmured "Alohomora," in front of the lock on the gate. It swung open, and they continued to half-drag her through a labyrinth of gardens.

"Do you think she's defective?" whispered Bellatrix, voice quavering. "Lucius, what if she really is a Squib?"

"What's a Squib?" asked Gemma, staring at the ground moving beneath her. "It's a pretty ridiculous insult."

"A Squib is someone born without the ability to cast spells despite being born into a wizard family," said Lucius, his grip softening. "However, I highly doubt that you're actually defective, as Bellatrix so lovingly put it."

"Shut up."

"I'm not from a wizard family," said Gemma, glancing up. "Granddad is-was-all I had."

Bellatrix let out a sound crossed between a sharp laugh and a sob. Lucius was quick to continue. "We actually believe differently."

"I'm sure you do," retorted Gemma, who was still caught on the possibility of waking up from this nightmare. "Then again, I'm not sure exactly what you're up to, murdering Granddad and all."

"Such matters will soon be discussed on a more pleasant forum," said Lucius. He lifted her head. "See? That's where you're going to live."

Gemma had no words. After all, ridiculously large mansion style houses were not a common commodity in the campsites where she grew up.

Lucius let go of her, and she found herself being held tightly by Bellatrix. He mumbled something and dug into his robes pockets before retrieving a silver key. "Perfect," he said, unlocking the enormous door. "Welcome home."

Gemma was released by her captor and stumbled into a great corridor. "Wow," she whispered, staring at the ornate chandeliers and oriental style rugs and dark oak floors. "It's…"

"Gaudy," said Bellatrix, walking past her and taking off her coat. "You should've seen my residence. It was excellent."

"Sure," said Lucius, whisking his wand and letting the coats fly into the distance. "God, Bella, could you try to go one minute without completely bashing your host?"

Bellatrix snorted and looked at Gemma expectantly. "You're managing quite well," she commented, and Gemma remembered that moments ago she had been trying to wake up her grandfather. "Then again, that's to be expected."

"Sure," said Gemma numbly. Something-a horrible, fascinating idea-kept popping up in her brain, but she couldn't block it from her thoughts. "Um. Assuming that you have some kind of motive? What are you going to do with me?"

Bellatrix studied her before glancing away unexpectedly. "You'll see, pet."

Gemma felt herself sink and followed them into a large drawing room with heavy velvet curtains and a roaring fireplace. Sitting upon a patterned sofa was a boy who looked startlingly like Lucius and a thin woman with long bottle blonde hair. They were seemingly engaged in a frivolous conversation, but when Lucius stepped in they both sprung upwards, the woman embracing him. "Dear, you absolutely reek of smoke," she said, gazing into his eyes. "Was it successful? Is Bella-"

She saw Gemma and inhaled. "Oh," she said, a smile splitting her features. "Bellatrix, is this her?"

Bellatrix said nothing, simply smiling before she nodded, quickly wiping at her eye. The other woman squealed and suddenly Gemma was encased in yet another pair of arms. "Oh, you're beautiful," she said, stroking her hair. "She's perfect, Bella, how-"

"She doesn't know magic," said Bellatrix, coughing.

The room temperature dropped a few degrees. "Are you certain?" asked the woman currently holding Gemma. "Please don't look at me like that, Bella."

Gemma wriggled out of her arms and tried to regain her balance. She still felt horribly dizzy and had no idea how she was even conscious. Everyone was staring at her. She was aware of that much. Exactly why, however, still eluded her. "Okay," she said after a brief silence. "I'm assuming that this is either a huge joke or some terrorist plot, but you can stop now if it's the first one. Please."

The boy narrowed his eyebrows. "What is she talking about?"

Lucius closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead. "She doesn't know."

"How?" asked the woman, looking nearly horrified. "Did Wulfric-"

"Mmm," said Bellatrix, eyes closed. "Bastard didn't even tell her about us."

Lucius's wife-what else could she be?-raised a hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

"Yes," said Bellatrix in an oddly high pitched voice. "Narcissa, I-I'm sorry, I can't-"

Is she actually crying? Why is she crying. Please stop crying. Narcissa suddenly glided over to the trembling wreck that was the formerly imposing Bellatrix, and Gemma coughed into her hand as soft words were muttered in some attempt to soothe. Whilst this was going on, the boy who looked like Lucius approached her, evidently discomfited by the entire situation. "Seeing as they're busy, do you want a tour?"

"Not particularly," whispered Gemma, still blinking. "Do you know what's going on?"

He sighed. "I'm still rather shocked that you haven't figured it out yet," he said, extending a palm. "I'm Draco."

"Gemma," she said, not taking his hand. "She…she killed my granddad."

Draco snorted. "Typical Bella."

"How can you laugh about that?" hissed Gemma, eyes welling up with tears. "God, you're all terrible."

Draco's shoulders drooped, posture decompressing. "Essentially, yes."

Gemma groaned and turned back to face Lucius. "Please tell me what's going on. Is this a prank, or some sick joke, or maybe I'm on some television bit-"

"Hardly," said Lucius simply, sitting down in a velvet armchair. He seemingly brought a pipe out of nowhere and lit the snuff with his wand, thoughtfully looking out of the large windows and ignoring Narcissa and Bellatrix completely. "We really should have gotten you some proper robes."

"Robes," said Gemma in monotone. "Because that's a thing that you wear."

Draco nodded and slumped onto the sofa. "Muggles have it so easy when it comes to wardrobe choices," he said bitterly. "If I could wear jeans-"

Lucius's stern gaze shut him up promptly. He then turned back to Gemma and continued his soliloquy. "I am sorry for your grandfather. Bellatrix can tend to be a little…explosive."

"That's hardly an excuse," muttered Gemma grimly, sitting next to Draco rather inharmoniously. "I should find a phone and call the police on her."

Lucius laughed harshly. "They wouldn't interfere if they knew what was good for them."

"Are you a Communist or something?" demanded Gemma, gaining attention from Narcissa. "Because they were all over the news for ages, and I swear, if you're trying anything-"

The temperature in the room dropped drastically, and Gemma shivered before noticing an enormous snake slide into the room effortlessly. She squeaked and pulled her legs up against her. "What is that?!"

Draco held a finger to his lips, and a tall, thin man wearing long, tattered robes appeared from the doorway. With escalating terror, Gemma realized that he had serpentine features and cold, red eyes. In that moment, she knew that the woman who killed her grandfather was not the leader of the operation and that far darker forces were meddling with her life.

The man waited for what seemed like hours, staring indifferently at Gemma. "So," he said quietly. "Bella. Come here."

Still wiping at her eyes, Bellatrix stumbled over in his general direction. He looked at her pointedly, not even taking the moment to blink. "You're distressed."

She grew several shades paler. "Nothing unmanageable, my lord."

His large white hand brushed her left cheekbone, almost carefully. "Are you sure?"

Bellatrix nodded frantically, and he narrowed his eyes. "Of course," he said, looking at Gemma. "And this is the girl."

The drawing room was eerily silent. Gemma felt as though she should say something-anything, really-but fear had paralyzed her tongue, rendering her useless. "Interesting," said the man, retrieving his wand. "I knew Wulfric was up to something, but he was quite talented at blocking me. What a shame he never taught her."

It felt like something was curling in her brain, moving about and sequestering her thoughts. "Gemma," he said, but she could barely hear his voice over the pounding in her head. "Do you know anything about this world?"

She struggled to look up. "Who-who are you?" she whispered, tears running down her face.

"My Lord," said Bellatrix warningly. The pain ceased and Gemma trembled on the couch, her brain still sending little shockwaves through her system. The man held her face in his cold hands, and she was forced to look at some sort of monster, eyelids rapidly shutting and opening, back and forth. "Please remember-"

Suddenly, Gemma was falling, deep into some indescribable darkness, her screams strangled by the void. She looked down and thudded against cold, hard masonry. "What the hell-"

A moan pierced the air followed by inaudible dialogue. Gemma stood up and tried to take in her surroundings: she seemed to be in a long hallway that curved back and forth and wasn't exactly architecturally sound. Running her fingertips against the walls, she felt an odd sense of déjà vu as she stepped as quietly as possible down the corridor, glancing behind her and swallowing. It was definitely turning out be an extraordinarily strange day-first the siege, then magically appearing in an enormous mansion, and finally this. What this was exactly, however, was still frighteningly not apparent. Gemma's mind was racing as she walked a little closer to the nearest doorway when two men precipitously rushed past her, nearly shoving her into the wall. "Wait!" she yelled, chasing after them. "Where-"

The moans were getting louder, and Gemma wanted to vomit. Another man ran through her, not even noticing her presence, and entered a room. Gemma swallowed and followed him, completely unprepared emotionally for what she was about to see.

A man with a coarse mane of reddish gold hair was chained to a wall, fighting off another, far more well groomed man with a wand. "Let go of me, you bastard!" he roared, punching him in the chest. "I need to-"

Someone screamed, and Gemma swiveled around to see a far younger Bellatrix. "What-" she began to ask as she started sobbing and clutching her chest. "Why-I don't understand-"

A thin, reedy woman wearing all white passed through her and lowered herself in front of the almost waifish looking Bellatrix, who was all tears and thick, glossy black hair. "Breathe," instructed the nurse, reaching into her large handbag and extracting a medieval looking device that made Gemma wince. "Now, Lestrange, I need you to calm down if you want to have a successful delivery-"

Gemma's eyes widened and she sat down next to Bellatrix. "Holy fuck," she said, realizing that the younger version of her tormentor was heavily pregnant. How did I not notice that? "You have a kid?"

Bellatrix seemingly ignored her and bit her lip so hard that she bled before looking at the nurse with glazed eyes. "Just get it out," she said, hiccupping back a sob. "It-" Her eyes bulged and she cried out.

There was a loud thud and the man fighting off the prisoner flew back unconscious. The prisoner in question had been released of his chains and held onto Bellatrix's shoulders, kissing her on the forehead. "Bella, shh," he murmured, and Gemma tried not to gag. "It's alright, pet, just try-"

Another set of dark clothed guards stormed in and ripped the man from her. "Rodolphus, no-"

"Your new cell is ready, Lestrange," hissed a guard into his ear, wand at his throat. "Cooperate or there will be heavier consequences."

The man named Rodolphus glared at them but did not resist getting dragged out of the room. There was the clang of a lock shutting, and Gemma's attention was turned back to Bellatrix and the nurse. "So I'm just an observer," she whispered, watching the nurse suddenly slap her in the face. "And this-this must be-"

Bellatrix threw back her head and screamed. The nurse was reaching underneath the cluster of sheets and then there was the crying of a newborn, and the nurse was standing up and toweling it off. Bellatrix blinked, tears streaming and tried to reach out for the baby. "Please," she said, fear overriding the pain. "Please, I promise I won't hurt her-"

The nurse scoffed and held the tiny newborn close to her chest. "That sounds ridiculous coming from you," she said in a tone that could only be described as condescending. "We will need a name for the birth certificate."

Bellatrix was openly sobbing now, and Gemma tried to block it all out with little success. "Please," she heard, and there was the sick slap of bloody matter on the floor. "Oh, God, was that-"

"Placenta," said the nurse, and the baby started crying again. "You'll be fine."

"You're taking my baby," said Bellatrix, and Gemma looked past her hands to see the flames in her eyes. "This is wrong. She-can you at least tell Cissy-"

"The grandfather has already applied for guardianship," said the nurse coldly, trying to soothe the baby. "A name, Mrs. Lestrange."

Bellatrix closed her eyes and laughed, still shivering. "Her name is Gemma," she said, and then the observer felt herself being sucked out of the memory and landed with a shock back into the present.


	2. How to be a Functional Adult

**~Third Person Limited (Bellatrix)~**

 **Ah. You actually read past the heavily rushed first chapter. Congratulations.**

 **As a forewarning, the POV will change between chapters-always third person limited with the exception of a few meta elements-always balancing between Gemma, Bellatrix, and (** ** _insert third undecided character here_** **). Also, special credits to IHeartFantasy, because once, long ago, we were both twelve and had a dream to write a massive fanfic that would be 25% redemption for our problematic favorite characters and 75% poorly worded witticisms. 3 Love you, SEN.**

 **TRIGGER WARNINGS: Because of my tendencies to write incredibly large amounts of tragicomic events, there will be lots of justified angst. I HC Bellatrix to have a severe case of untreated borderline personality disorder (a personality disorder largely characterized by a desperate need for acceptance, a tendency to be self destructive, and splitting [black & white thinking].) If you have any questions as to why she's written like this and not as a sociopath or psychopath in this fic, it's because A.) I always felt like Bellatrix wasn't completely devoid of emotion like Voldemort-rather, she ****_is_** **emotional outbursts, and B.) I have BPD and sometimes you just need to slap your diagnosis on a character as to better understand them.**

 **Besides the justified angst, there will be alcohol abuse, detailed descriptions of miscarriage, and one extremely abusive relationship. Be warned.**

The girl was not moving, her thin frame frighteningly still as she stared vacantly into the middle distance whilst the inhabitants of the drawing room were silent. Bellatrix wanted to break the taciturnity with all of her might, wanted to run to the child she had held in her memory for fifteen long, painful years, but she knew that if she stepped out of line in the slightest way, she would be punished and brutalized.

Voldemort was staring at her daughter, almost thoughtfully, and she tried to swallow the burning acid in her throat. Anxiety was starting to drip down her spine, and she imagined the faces of Rodolphus and Rabastan and Barty; her true friends, loyal to the very end. _What would Roddy think of me now?_

Gemma finally opened her mouth, releasing a little gasp and staring up at the dark lord. "Why-how did you _do_ that?"

Voldemort's thin lips curved into a smile. "Magic. I could teach you."

"Really," said Gemma, her expression that of an enamored small child. "Was it real?"

"Yes," answered Voldemort, and Bellatrix felt acidic sludge bubble up into her esophagus. "I hope you can accept your mother as the great witch she is."

 _Lies_.

Gemma was facing her now, eyes wide. "You're really my mum."

Bellatrix nodded, feeling dizzy and faint. She tried to say something but Gemma already was looking back at Voldemort. "Was that man my dad?"

"He was killed two weeks ago," said Bellatrix finally, her voice cracking. "We were trying to capture the Undesirable, but he got hit by a _exceptionally_ nasty hex and-he fell."

"The Undesirable?"

"Harry Potter," spat Voldemort, turning from Gemma, who sank into the couch. He was quiet as he practically glided towards Bellatrix, who was still dealing with a particularly difficult bout of nausea. His hand barely brushed her shoulder but it was enough to make her tremble in discomfort, and as he began to explain the specific reasons _why_ Potter was so terrible, she inhaled deeply and started to drift back into memories she swore to not remember.

 _._

 _Three months previous_

.

"Bella?"

Someone was calling her name, gently nudging her out of her slumber and into the cold mess that was reality. "Bella, wake up."

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she groaned before pulling the covers over her face. "Roddy, I swear to God, not now."

"You've been asleep for over twelve hours," said Rodolphus, kissing her on the cheek. "Come on. We have _business_ to attend to."

The truth slapped her awake. "Yes," she said as she sat up, horrifically alert. "Oh, God. Have we been to France? Do you think she's in France?"

"Yes, and no," said Rodolphus, his huge hands bringing her forward. "Remember when we escaped? We tried to trace her, and France was a no-go."

Bellatrix deflated slightly but still got out of bed, wrapping herself in a tattered off black cloak and smearing red on her lips. "What if they're not even in Europe? She has to be at least fifteen now-"

"Exactly fifteen today," said Rodolphus, and she swiveled to face him. "It's May 6th."

"Oh," said Bellatrix, closing her eyes. " _Oh_."

His arms closed around her, and she felt herself begin to spiral downwards into the internal prison within. "I shouldn't have mentioned it," he murmured into her hair. "I'm an idiot."

"Why didn't I remember?" she whispered, burying her face into his chest. "Am I-"

"Don't say it-"

"-a _bad_ mother?" she asked tearfully, looking up at him. "Roddy, why did they even _let_ us have a cell together? It was bound to happen _some_ time and we didn't even know she was missing until we got out and-"

"If she went to Hogwarts, think of the hell she'd have to go through," said Rodolphus. "She'd have to deal with those little Auror brats and Mudblood supporters-"

"But we would still _have_ her!"

"Everything happens for a reason, Bella."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

Rodolphus sighed deeply and embraced her again. "Remember the tree?"

Of _course_ she remembered it. The Black Family Tree, spanning over several walls and acting as the bane of her maternal instinct for several incredibly painful years of early marriage. When she had first wed Rodolphus Lestrange, she was twenty-one and devastated by the mere idea of a conventional union. Luckily for her, Rodolphus was barely interested in just existing as a white picket fence couple. Instead of becoming a boring, conservative pair, immediately after exchanging vows they followed Rodolphus's father into his study and were tattooed with the Dark Mark by none other than Lord Voldemort himself. However, even as newlyweds with a flair for torture, they knew that they wanted _one_ part of the white picket fence idea: the perfect Pureblood heir.

In their third year as a couple, a twig formed on the branch bearing the name of Lestrange, hanging down and growing for three and a half months before one day simply disappearing. Shortly after, she miscarried in the bath. The second time occurred when she collapsed after a particularly large amount of physical exertion due to questioning a Muggleborn who had suspicious tendencies. After that they stopped trying, curled together in bed but never dared at attempting another tragedy.

But then they were imprisoned, locked away together in a single cramped cell, and there really wasn't anything to do _except_ for engage in carnal activities. One thing led to another and on a cold day in October, she realized that her dress was getting tight and that she was far too late on her monthlies.

It was odd, she thought, how they only managed to have an heir successfully while imprisoned. A social worker came to visit them during her seventh month, staring disdainfully at her burgeoning belly and talking in a sappy tone. They would be separated, it was said, after the birth, as to ensure another accident wouldn't happen again. Bellatrix snorted at that part, mainly because this was the greatest mistake she had ever made, and she and Rodolphus had howled with laughter while the social worker glared at them. "Insane," she had muttered when she left, and they held each other before breaking down entirely.

"Maybe," said Rodolphus, bringing her back, "we should check it."

"Roddy, that's _crazy_ ," sighed Bellatrix, but the idea raced through her head at light speed. "Grimmauld Place has been under lockdown ever since the incident with my _darling_ cousin, and it's not like we could actually-"

He kissed her, hard on the mouth, and she shut up, completely distracted for a moment before shoving him off. "Rodol _phus_! We don't have a lot of time!"

"Bella _trix_ , we haven't done anything for the last two years _except_ for help with the cause and search for Gemma," complained Rodolphus, rolling his eyes in an exceptionally immature manner. "Sure, we've engaged in intimacies, but only after a bloodbath."

"It's my body," she smirked, kissing him on the forehead. "And we oughtn't do anything until we're absolutely sure-"

"Bullshit, Bella."

"Hardly."

Bellatrix snorted and opened their bedroom door. Her husband followed after, lopping along like some giant puppy. "Honestly, Bella! You're such a _tease_."

"I prefer the term 'selective', but that doesn't necessarily matter to you, does it?"

"We're _married_."

"That doesn't mean I'll spread my legs at any given time, dear." They turned down the corridor and stepped into the exquisitely grandiose dining room, where Narcissa was staring blindly at a copy of the _Prophet_ , swallowing uncomfortably as her sister and brother in law sat down at the table. "Hel _lo,_ Cissy. Is something wrong?"

"No," said Narcissa, blinking. "I've just been…a bit indecisive, ha-ha."

Bellatrix cocked her head. "Meaning?"

"Lucius confided in me," she whispered, leaning in, "that the _Dark Lord_ will be staying with us."

The Lestranges synchronously gasped in delight. "Really?" asked Rodolphus, a smile curving at his lips. "For how long?"

"It's indefinite," said Narcissa, her blush fading back into her pale skin. "He'll be arriving in June."

"How…interesting," said Bellatrix, biting her lower lip indignantly. She could feel the scar, small but significant, and swallowed. "Roddy, do you think he'll…interfere?"

"Bellatrix, that's ridiculous," said Rodolphus. "He knows. _Everybody_ knows. He won't try to leach us of our daughter."

She nodded, her face growing warm. "Never mind. It's stupid."

.

 _Two weeks previous_

.

There wasn't a body to speak of-just some gray ash and the splintered fragments of his broom. "I-I'm so sorry," said Lucius, his hand resting on her shoulder. "It was a Weasley, you know."

"I was _there_ , you idiot," she spat vindictively, tears welling. "Bastard."

"Sorry," said Lucius, his hand darting off of her body and resting back in his robe pockets. "Well. If you need to talk-"

"Lucius, your presence is not currently required," said a cold voice, and Bellatrix froze completely. "I need to speak to Bellatrix alone."

One Lucius had scampered off, she turned to face him, mascara tears streaming down her cheeks. "What?"

"That's hardly an appropriate tone for addressing your master, Bella."

" _Apologies_ ," she said, but her defiance was still on fire.

"I understand that you're an emotional… _mess_ , but that doesn't give you any leeway over how you speak to me."

She nodded, trembling. Nothing mattered. Nothing at all.

"Perhaps you could assist me," he said, and Bellatrix looked up. His features remained unchanged, but there was something else in his eye that was irritatingly familiar. "After all, you are very exceptional in many ways."

 _Is he complimenting me?_ "Alright?"

His lips curled, and she realized that he was smiling. "Come with me."

.

 _Present day_

.

The Dark Lord was very close to wrapping up his little diatribe, and Bellatrix blinked rapidly before realizing-yet again-that Gemma was actually in front of her and was grown and appeared to be somewhat healthy. She felt a smile creep onto her lips, and when Voldemort was finally done, she approached her daughter, delicately placing her palms against her shoulders. "We have to get you a wand."

Gemma looked confused before reaching into her back pocket. "Um, before you _brutally murdered_ him, Granddad gave me this." In her hands was a long, thin box-definitely the work of Olivander, but nothing recent. "I'm just going to assume that it was his, but if not, I'm still using it."

Voldemort snickered and opened the box, examining the wand with narrowed eyes. "Very interesting. I believe that this is cherry, with…dragon heartstring? It definitely belonged to Wulfric. This wand performed a multitude of charms and curses. You should feel privileged."

"Okay," said Gemma, evidently uncomfortable. She met Bellatrix's eyes briefly but then sighed and looked at Draco. "So, you're my cousin."

Draco laughed awkwardly. "Yes."

"And you're my aunt, and my uncle." Lucius and Narcissa nodded. "So…do I have any other family members that I don't know about?"

"None that are living," said Bellatrix. Her hands drifted into her pockets, and her fingers felt weird and clammy. "Your father had a brother, but…he's dead."

"Huh," said Gemma, nonplussed. "Okay. That's…different."

Lord Voldemort stretched and picked up Nagini like a child. "Bellatrix, begin instruction immediately. Draco, come with me."

Draco briefly froze and then followed him out of the room reluctantly. Bellatrix glared at her sister and Lucius, and they nodded before exiting hurriedly. Her daughter stared at her, fumbling with the wand. "So."

"Yes?"

"Teach me something, I guess," she said. "I mean, this is utterly bizarre, but seeing as I'm not hallucinating or anything devastating, I guess that I might as well learn _something_ from this whole encounter."

Bellatrix smiled grimly and sat down next to her on the couch. "I know that you're probably feeling overwhelmed right now, but you have to remember that your grandfather was trying to keep you from _this,_ " she said, making a piece of paper turn into a bird and fly across the room. "You can be so much more than what he raised you to be-"

"Whatever," said Gemma, shoulders sagging slightly. "You're just saying that in order to _control_ me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're trying to do _something_ psychological, and it's really irritating and won't _work_ ," said Gemma indigently. "Like, really. I get that you're my mum and you missed me and whatever, but that doesn't exactly erase the whole 'killing the only person who ever cared about me' thing. If anything, it just makes everything even more disturbing."

Bellatrix paused, wondering if there was anything she could say to redeem herself, but Gemma continued.

"You are a murderer, and I don't think I can respect you, or any of this stupid stuff. I mean I can get that snake guy is really imposing but still, I'm not interested in your cause. I don't want to help you kill someone who is part of a prophecy that may or may not actually be real, and I don't have interest in the whole 'wiping out other people' thing. It kind of feels Hitler-ish, if you get my drift."

"Um," said Bellatrix, trying to gain some composure. "Gemma. Darling. You really should reconsider."

"I'd love to, if you actually had any respect for human fucking decency, but you obviously do not care about anything other than this bullshit brigade!"

She was crying now, her black eyelashes clumped together with tears. "And you know what? I don't _want_ to learn any _stupid_ spells. I want my Granddad back."

Because of her lack of actual parenting skills, Bellatrix fidgeted uncomfortably as her daughter, albeit long lost, sobbed on the sofa with reckless abandon. After a solid minute, she reached out and touched Gemma's hand, but the girl pulled back and grimaced. "Don't fucking touch me."

"Okay," squeaked Bellatrix, standing up. The nausea was rearing its ugly head, and she started to stroll out of the room. "I…I love you."

"Uh-huh," said Gemma in between sobs. "Totally."

 **Sorry for the shorter chapter, but I've been ridiculously busy with my classes and work. Please review! I love your criticism.**


	3. Gemma's Relatively Tame Adventure

**To those of you who review: I love you.**

 **To those of you who review and leave thoughtful criticisms: You're my best bro.**

 **Anyway, let the show go on.**

 **POV-Gemma**

 _~Three Days Later~_

"Gemma?"

The girl groaned and attempted to get out of her double bed. Despite all of the luxuries the manor had to offer, she was dead set on not giving into any of her desires for hour-long baths and well-cooked four course dinners. Instead, she was living off of instant ramen and practicing summoning spells in her bedroom, reading through Draco's old textbooks like mad. Despite her newfound family's attempts at engaging with her, she refused to even talk to them (with the exception of her cousin). However, even with their near constant bombardment of her privacy (Granddad had rarely intruded on her private matters, let alone really speak to her about anything other than the spirit of adventure and other convoluted bullshit), Gemma felt almost at peace in her room practicing simple charms. When she performed even with the slightest improvement-why she thought a Patronus charm would be easy, who knew?-she grinned, wiped the sweat off of her brow, and began again.

But now, at ten thirty in the morning, she stumbled out of bed and yawned before opening the door. "Hi," she said, running a hand through her short curly hair. "What are they saying this time?"

Draco looked uncomfortable. "Actually, Mother thought that it would be good to take you to Diagon Alley. Y'know, to get some robes and maybe see Gringotts."

"The fuck is Gringotts? Is that like a really good restaurant?"

"Hardly. It's the bank," said Draco, waving his hand absentmindedly as he stepped into her room. "God, Gemma, you're such a slob."

She crossed her arms against her chest and frowned. "I prefer the term 'artistic temperament'."

"That isn't exactly an excuse for not cleaning anything," said Draco, turning up his nose at the empty bowls of ramen next to her bed. "God. How can you _eat_ that?"

"The real question is whether or not you can stop being such a dork and get out," said Gemma, smiling icily. "By the way, can you bring me up some crepes?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "There aren't any left."

"You're a wizard. Figure it out."

"Gemma, you can't create food out of thin air. It's one of the rules."

"That's actually _really_ stupid," said Gemma, leaning against her dresser. "You have spells that can automatically end somebody's life, but you can't make pancakes? What the fuck, Draco?

Draco shifted on his feet. "Please refrain from being so vulgar."

"It's not vulgarities that are making you angry," said Gemma, yawning and applying some chapstick. "By the way, do you like psychoanalysis?"

"No?"

"Well, well. How unenthusiastically _boring_." She grimaced at her reflection and glared at her wand on the dresser. "You're really…I dunno…not interesting?"

"I'm perfectly interesting, thank you very much."

"Not really, actually! Like, you grew up in this crazy magical world and you can barely hold a semi decent conversation!"

Draco rolled his eyes and crossed his arms against his chest. "Uh-huh."

"I bet you don't even do anything _remotely_ fascinating in your spare time," said Gemma, who was now standing in her closet and struggling to fit into her pair of jeans. "You know, other than the whole dark worship of snake guy."

"Gemma, talking about the Dark Lord in vain is not advisable-"

"And being completely dumb is?" She exited the walk-in-wardrobe, rolling her eyes and mimicking his movements. "My name's _Draco_ , and I'm totally _devoted_ to snake guy. Wow, looking at his pasty snake skin turns me on-"

"Shut _up_ , Gemma," said Draco, glaring at her. "You sound like an idiot."

"I know!" said Gemma, winking. "I'm glad _you_ could realize the error of your ways."

Draco groaned and walked out of the room, looking at her before he was completely gone. "By the way, Bellatrix wants to talk to you. It sounded important."

Gemma sighed and collapsed back on the bed. Now that her pseudo-cousin-but-mainly-dork was gone, she could let herself spiral and brood about the darker things in life; when she was little, her grandfather would often read her abridged versions of Lovecraft, and thinking about eldritch abominations always calmed her down to no end. Thinking of horrorterrors in all of their fearsome glory only made her discomforted, though-a major deviance from the norm that would not be accepted.

The girl ran her fingers through her hair and debated whether or not suicide was an actual option before there was yet another knock at the door. "May I come in?" asked Bellatrix from the other side, and Gemma could imagine her, all twitchy and nervous and unprepared.

"Yep," said Gemma, staring up at the ceiling as her enemy/mother almost stumbled into her bedroom. "What is it?"

"Did you speak to Draco yet?"

"Mmm."

"And," said Bellatrix, audibly swallowing, "do you want to go to Diagon Alley?"

"Hardly."

"I see." Gemma felt the weight on her mattress shift, and she realized that Bellatrix was sitting near the foot of the bed. "We could maybe go to a restaurant, if you're interested. There's this really great Italian place-"

"You can't buy my affection with food," said Gemma, although anything that _wasn't_ ramen sounded amazing. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I have to decline."

"I see," said Bellatrix. "Are you aware of what the Dark Lord has in mind for you?"

"I really don't care."

"Gemma, he's the greatest thinker of our time. He knows about purity-"

"You do realize that you sound fanatical, right?" asked Gemma, looking at her in the eyes. It was uncanny, how they burned, the color of charcoal with little rivets of gray dripping through her sclera, how genetics had made them share a single trait. "You sound like a crazy person."

"I'm _not_ ," said Bellatrix insistently, but her expression was doubtful. "You don't even have the slightest concept of how important this is."

"It's bullshit, Bellatrix."

"It is _not_."

"He's brainwashing you," said Gemma, grinning. "And you're giving _in_ to it."

"You're a child," said Bellatrix, her cheeks flushed red. "And you don't know what you're talking about."

"If I was a child, could I successfully retaliate?" asked Gemma, puckering her lips. "And if I was a child, would you _actually_ be mad-"

Bellatrix's palm connected with her cheek, and for a moment, all she could concentrate on was the sharp sting of her skin. The woman looked horrified with her actions, but Gemma, being a young, foolhardy adventurer, laughed. "Wow," she said bitterly, getting up. "You're _really_ good at being a mother."

She turned and looked into her closet, finding an oddly printed scarf before turning to face her mother, who was still frozen on the bed. "Let's go to Diagon Alley. Show me off, or something."

Bellatrix still was silent, but her hand had slipped down to the front of her robes. "What?" asked Gemma, raising an eyebrow as she wrapped herself up in a coat. "Cat got your tongue?"

"I'm fine," said Bellatrix unconvincingly, standing up uneasily and sighing. "And you need to stop being so insolent."

"Whatever," said Gemma, striding out of the room in false confidence, her hips swaying to Bellatrix's horror. "Let's go."

.

…

.

Unfortunately for the magical population of Great Britain, Diagon Alley had declined enormously in taste and décor. If anything, it was an enormous conglomerate of the broken and the damned, a pathetic little piece of purgatory ripe for the picking. Of course, this didn't stop Bellatrix and Narcissa from enthusiastically dragging Gemma into practically every shop.

After several stops (all of which were increasing in irritation and regulation), the sisters took the girl to get some robes. Despite her fidgeting and groaning about the sheer impracticality of the garments, several hundred Galleons passed through their hands, and a very pissed off Gemma exited the store with several new outfits to befit her wardrobe.

"This is so boring," she said as Narcissa made a sharp turn down a side street. "Seriously. I've seen kid films more exciting than this."

Bellatrix's grip on her hand didn't loosen, and the girl felt a considerable amount of resentment boil up into her system. "Can you _please_ let go of me."

Immediately, their hands fell apart, and Gemma smiled in satisfaction. She still had no real idea how to interact with her mother, who A.) was a raving lunatic, B.) still was biologically related to her and was maybe a sign that she wouldn't grow up to be completely hideous, but C.) still was a fanatical worshipper of Lord Voldemort [a.k.a magic Hitler], who was bad. She had always longed for some kind of closeness with an adult who wasn't Granddad, but this…this was just disappointing as far as far as the responsible female troupe went. Bellatrix barely seemed capable of controlling her own emotional outbursts (see _Killed Granddad out of Frustration_ , chapter One), let alone adept at trying to even contemplate raising a moody teenager. It was almost ridiculous, thought Gemma, that someone so imposing could be so _weak_ when it came to actual social interaction.

"We would go to Gringotts, but there's been…an interesting turn of events," continued Narcissa, squinting at the sky. Her expression quickly became one of alarm, and she grabbed Gemma and shoved her against the wall. "Bella-"

There was a heavy _thud_ and Gemma realized that what seemed like a small thunderstorm of people on brooms had landed. " _Expelliarmus_!" shouted an unfamiliar voice, and Gemma felt something hit her back. "Remus, _watch_ out!"

Gemma blinked and grabbed her wand from her new robe pockets. " _Crucio_!" yelled Bellatrix, and someone screamed in pain. "Run, Gemma, _RUN_!"

She obliged and darted past several beams of light. Narcissa was unconscious, blood streaming from her nose, and she screamed as someone grabbed her shoulders. "Were you abducted?" asked a tall, thickly built black wizard wearing flowing robes. "Come on, we have to get you _out_ of here." He handed her a broomstick and looked at her instantly. "Are you a Muggleborn?"

"A what?"

He didn't hear her as Bellatrix screamed a quick slew of curses. "Get your filthy hands _off of her_!"

" _How do I use this_?" screamed Gemma as she mounted the broom.

"How do you not know?" shouted the man, pointing his wand at her mother. " _Bombarda Maxima_!"

Bellatrix flew into the brick wall of a building and as it collapsed, Narcissa woke up, noticing Gemma on the broom. " _Imperio_!" she shrieked, but the spell bounced off of a shield created by a haggard looking man with dandelion fluff hair and a scraggly beard.

"Jesus fucking Christ, what are you _doing_?" demanded the man helping her. "Get out of here!"

A surge of instinct rushed through Gemma, and she kicked off of the ground and found herself soaring above everything. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," she cursed, trying not to look down. "Oh fuck-"

"Miss, follow me!" shouted a witch with bright pink hair. "God, you're _terrible_ at flying-"

Gemma screamed and surged downwards, but only for a moment before she was following the witch, shooting over London and flying faster than any plane. The adrenaline was pumping through her system and she couldn't help but laugh hysterically at the thought of Bellatrix being potentially killed by a wall, and suddenly she was falling downwards, zooming down to uncertain death-

" _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The broom fell to the craggy moorlands, but Gemma stayed afloat a few feet off of the ground. She was still laughing, almost gagging from the amount of air escaping her lungs, but then she fell and had the wind completely knocked out of her. Someone was standing over her and saying _something,_ and then, everything went black.

.

…

.

When she woke up, Gemma was lying on a graying mattress with a fluffy down comforter. Posters of bands she didn't quite recognize surrounded her, as well as several various pictures of a boy with messy hair and glasses. "Huh," she said, and someone opened the door and suddenly she realized that the witch with pink hair was sitting on the edge of her bed, grinning hugely as she chewed on a wad of bubblegum. "Hey, Jane Doe!" she said cheerily, stretching her legs. "Did you sleep well?"

"I guess?" said Gemma, blushing. "Who are you?"

"My name's Tonks. Well, technically it's Nymphadora _Lupin_ now, but Tonks is so much better. Agreed? Anyway, the _important_ question is who are _you_?"

"Um, Gemma," she said, biting her lower lip. Something about releasing her last name gave her a discomforting vibe. "Gemma…"

"Do you not remember?" asked Tonks, narrowing her eyebrows. "I know you took a nasty fall, but do you have any recollection of any gaps?"

"Gaps?"

"Like, in time. We think Lestrange might have had you under the Imperious Curse, but that isn't really her specialty."

"Lestrange," said Gemma dumbly, savoring her surname. Leh-STRAWNGE, hard and cold and French in her mouth. "No, not really."

"Then what happened?" asked Tonks, blinking rapidly. Were her eyes changing color, or was Gemma hallucinating? "You couldn't honestly have been with Death Eaters by choice."

"So _that's_ what they're called," said Gemma, feeling giddy. "That's such a dumb name. Like, _'oh, we're going to eat Death! So creative!"_

Tonks looked uncomfortable. "It's not really a joking matter. Are you a witch?"

"Technically? Yes. I barely found out less than a week ago," said Gemma, yawning. "I still have no idea what I'm doing, though. Apparently Granddad left me a wand, but it's stupid and I don't really like it."

Tonks had a dumbfounded expression on her face for a moment before clearing her throat. "So…"

Someone was standing in the doorframe, and Gemma realized that it was the man from the alley who had given her the broom. "It's you!" she exclaimed, letting out a laugh. "Hey, thanks for saving me back there. Much appreciation going your way!"

"Mm-hm," said the man, walking into the room. "I am Kingsley Shacklebolt. I'm assuming Tonks here has briefed you on the topic of-"

He was interrupted by Tonks pulling at his sleeve. "She doesn't know," she whispered.

"About what?"

"Anything."

"I can hear you," said Gemma, cringing, but they were staring at each other, completely ignoring her.

"Anything at all?"

"Ditto."

"Are you sure? Have you brought up Potter?"

"Potter?" echoed Gemma, and they turned to look at her immediately. "He's that guy who Voldemort wants to kill, right?"

"How did you know that and not what the Death Eaters were called?" asked Tonks cautiously.

"Because he told me. Duh."

Shacklebolt and Tonks stared at her. "What."

"Okay, long story short, I was living with my grandfather," said Gemma, a bit hurriedly. "And that was great. And he never told me anything about magic or whatever. So one day there's all of these fires and he gets killed by some crazy bitch, who takes me to her house, and then Voldemort, a.k.a magic Hitler, shows me a bunch of crazy memories, and she's my mom (which believe me, was surprising!) and I'm supposedly going to help their 'great' cause and it's stupid and yeah. That's all."

They continued staring at her, almost blankly, for about a minute and a half before inhaling simultaneously and standing up. "We should probably bring this up to someone," said Tonks nervously. "Or return her."

"Please don't make me go back! They're _awful_."

"I am promising you right now that you're not going back," said Shacklebolt, but he looked unsure as he said it. "However, we have made a major mistake."

"You saved me? What-"

"A source told us that Snatchers were taking Muggleborns from Hogwarts and auctioning them off to Death Eaters as playthings," said Tonks bitterly. "We thought that-I don't know-I thought that they had bought you."

"That's…" Gemma stuttered, blinking. "Wow. I know Bellatrix is pretty terrible, but I didn't know sexual slavery was one of her offenses."

Tonks laughed, ruffled her hair. "I guess this makes us related in more ways than one."

"Another random relative? Joy," said Gemma, feeling her anxiety rattle her bones. "Lemme guess, you're all for love and equality and are basically the cool cousin in comparison to Draco, who's a big nerd."

They didn't laugh at that.

 **i am lazy and college oh god**

 **pardon the shitty content, i am really** **lazy and college oh god i hate college please send in an armada to complete my assignments PLEASE**

 **but i love y'all. really. thank you for everything and there will hopefully be another less shitty chapter soon**


	4. How to Fuck Up Irrevocably

**Trigger Warning(s):**

 **Grievous Bodily Harm/Severe Character Injury**

 **Implied (who am I kidding, it's pretty blatant) Abuse**

 **Miscarriage (not to be confused with THE miscarriage chapter, which will occur later on)**

 **Graphic Description(s) of the following:**

 **1.)** **Pain/Bodily Injury**

 **2.)** **Bleeding**

 **3.)** **How to be a generally terrible person (** see Voldemort, entire presence in canon AND in this train wreck **)**

 **4.)** **Depression/Mood Instability**

 **There will also be some pretty awful character development. Because I simply** ** _adore_** **destroying fictional people.** **J**

Upon being released from the inky blackness of her slumber, Bellatrix Lestrange realized three things:

-she was covered in bandages

-she wasn't in her bedroom at the manor

-her body was being completely consumed by sharp stabbing pain

Her fingernails sunk into her thighs and she cried out, a weak little sound that she never wanted to be associated with ever again. However, it was enough to alert the house elf dozing in the corner, and the twitchy little thing wobbled upwards before dashing out of the drab room. Writhing in agony, Bellatrix gasped as a heavy, all too familiar cramping sensation seized her lower abdominal area, and suddenly, everything was numb. She was perfectly _aware_ of everything hurting, but it felt more out-of-body than anything else.

Time dragged across her body when suddenly two Healers burst through the door, the older and rounder of the two draping a soft damp cloth against Bellatrix's forehead. "What have you been doing, Devon?" scolded the Healer, and Bellatrix realized that she was at St. Mungo's. "She's burning up!"

"She's a supporter of decimating the entire Muggleborn population," said Devon, who was a beanpole of a kid with tawny hair. He reluctantly started to take vitals, and Bellatrix felt something warm and sticky coating her thighs. "Oh, _shit_."

"What?" asked the other Healer, rushing to the foot of the bed. She exclaimed a tiny squeak and the patient groaned as another cramp hit her. "How could you have _not_ checked for pregnancy? You _know_ that Skelegro has disastrous side effects on fetal tissue, and-"

Bellatrix screamed through grit teeth and sobbed as she realized exactly what was happening. Her brain roared at the tragic irony of the situation, but any amount of thought couldn't stop what was already done, and as Devon muttered a slew of charms to ease the pain and began the extraction process, she gripped onto the edge of the hospital bed and cried.

.

…

.

Narcissa came in to her room around ten, her nose crooked, black and blue circles underneath her eyes. She was holding a bouquet of blue roses and a large handbag. "Bella?" she asked, and Bellatrix looked away. "I-I'm so sorry."

Bellatrix nodded stiffly, unable to speak as her sister placed the flowers into a vase on the bedside table and sat down on the wooden chair next to the hospital bed. "They told me what happened," said Narcissa, reaching for her hand. "How are you feeling?"

"I should have know," Bellatrix said simply, not making eye contact. "I'd been feeling so sick, and it was _Roddy's_ , and…God, is _Gemma_ all right?"

Cue a deep inhalation from Narcissa, and Bellatrix immediately knew. "We don't know where she is," said her sister softly, making little circles on her skin with the tip of her finger. "She got on a broom and then she was _gone_."

"Oh," said Bellatrix, swallowing. The emotions hadn't really set in quite yet, but she could feel something burning inside of her chest. "That's…"

And then it hit:

Her daughter was gone, not in her reach, and was probably associating with Mudbloods and blood traitors.

Her daughter, who she had longed for night and day, was off doing something completely irresponsible and probably causing potential danger to the cause.

Her daughter was being corrupted.

.

…

.

The bathtub was cold and white and felt far too smooth, as if she could slide under the water and just disappear. Scratch that-drowning violently sounded so much more appealing. Gasping in huge gulps of dirty water, sclera flashing bright red as what was imminent waited in the near shadows, lapping up at what pathetic excuse she had for a life like a gluttonous child of immobile proportions.

"Bella."

She sat up, drenched and chilled by the ice water, and covered her breasts with her arms. "My Lord," she said weakly, blinking at his pearly skin. "This hardly seems appropriate."

Voldemort didn't say a thing, just raised his brow and stared.

It had been two weeks since the miscarriage, two weeks since she had been flung into a building and shattered most of her bones. Two weeks since Gemma had gone missing.

"My Lord," she said, an idea piercing her brain. She parted her legs slightly, not enough to give a strict impression of what she desired, but Voldemort slowly approached her knowingly, his overtly tattered robe falling to the floor.

It hurt more than she liked to admit, and little spirals of red filled the bath water. "Pretty," she said after, twirling her finger in one, not wanting anything.

"Tomorrow," he said, toweling off and stretching. "Wear lingerie."

.

…

.

And so began the self-depreciation of Bellatrix Lestrange; every day for about a week, he would arrive in her chambers and use her. They didn't talk about it outside of her bedroom (in fact, they didn't really talk at all. She was expected to be completely silent, and if she disobeyed, he would drag his wand down her back horizontally and make a variety of scars appear). It wasn't particularly good sex-then again, he wasn't Rodolphus, who dealt with her even when she was at her lowest points in a kindly manner-and if anything, it was just painful and rough and degrading.

Of course, she didn't really care. Nothing seemed to be important, not anymore.

.

…

.

Her left eyelid was completely swollen shut, but she didn't cry. She couldn't afford to, not really.

It was well into week two of being brutally fucked by Voldemort, week four of no Gemma, and day three of Bellatrix realizing that she didn't actually want to have sex. Such a revelation was shocking, but she pretended not to care, let herself be dehumanized by the torture. It didn't really matter, she kept telling herself. Nothing matters.

However, today was different.

The Dark Lord continually grasped her hips, shoving himself deep inside of her. Her back was now a mess of scratches and half healed wounds, and every thrust made her wince as the cuts ripped again and again. Suddenly, he pulled out, and Bellatrix could feel the mess running down the length of her legs. She didn't dare look.

"That'll be all," he said quietly, curling a few strands of her hair around his index finger and thumb. "Don't do anything stupid."

He was gone, and Bellatrix stared at the imprint of her body on the sheets, nodding. She wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that sentiment, so she curled into a fetal position and slept.

.

…

.

 ** _Gemma_**

.

…

.

Gemma was sitting on one of the overstuffed couches next to her newly found (yet super cool!) aunt Andromeda, struggling with completing a row of stitches on her bamboo needles. "I honestly don't get it," she said, the dull rose mohair curling in her hands. "How can you make _entire_ sweaters without magic?"

"Patience," said Andromeda simply, her needles a blur in the dim light.

The Order had decided to place her with Tonks's family after it was revealed her exact parentage. Andromeda was incredibly kind and was intent on feeding her a massive amount of carrot cake along with giving her knitting lessons. Tonks (Nymphadora) was staying with them for reasons unknown to Gemma, and Ted-her amazingly nice uncle-talked to her about the wonders of television, something that she had missed dearly for the few days she was at the manor. Together, they made an awkward little family unit, and Gemma found herself wondering why she had a bad luck of the draw with her own mother.

They were sitting together in the cramped-yet-cozy living room when there was a polite knock at the door. "Come in," sang Tonks, and Shacklebolt poked his head through the doorframe. "Hey, King!"

"Hullo," he said in his ultra soothing voice, and Gemma resisted the urge to sleep. "I need to talk to the girl, please. Alone."

Gemma awkwardly stood up, fluffing her short hair and following him outside into the garden. It was weird, how much she felt that she could trust her savior despite only meeting him a few times. She wanted to understand his exact reasoning behind backing Potter, wanted to be like him. Of course, that was completely silly, seeing as she could barely perform magic well enough on her own to be considered Auror material. "What's wrong?" she asked, plucking a moonflower from its stem.

"I never said anything was wrong, Gemma," he said softly.

"Well, I'm pretty damn sure you wouldn't be talking to me if everything was all right," grinned Gemma, sitting down next to him on the steps. "Can I meet Harry yet?"

"Actually," Shacklebolt uncomfortably, "we still don't know where he is."

"Ah," she said. "That sucks."

"Indeed. Now, I was wondering if you are interested in partaking in a particularly important mission."

"Like Bond?"

Shacklebolt looked confused briefly, but then broke into a large smile. "Kind of."

"Cool," said Gemma, imagining herself in a vast sequence of kicking Death Eater ass. "What's the scoop?

"I talked to my supervisors, and we need someone to infiltrate the Malfoy's," said Shacklebolt carefully. "I completely understand that you don't want to go back, but it is necessary for the end of this war."

"Huh," said Gemma, swallowing. She didn't want to even consider the idea of having to go back to her ridiculous relatives. "There isn't, like, any loopholes around this?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "From what we've heard, there is now a Snatcher operation running out of the manor, and You-Know-Who has declared it his base."

Gemma nodded and stared at the skyline. "I kind of want to stay _here_ , though."

"I know you do."

"I can't even do magic or anything," she said, fumbling with her wand. "And how would I contact you? I don't have an owl or anything."

"Actually," said Shacklebolt, pointing at something in the distance, "you do."

A large white shape landed on his arm, and Gemma realized that it was a huge Great Horned Owl with white plumage. "You got me an owl?" she asked, starting to grin. "And…it's _albino_?"

"Just a little something to improve communications between us," smiled Kingsley as it hopped from his arm onto her shoulder. "His name is Fulbright."

Fulbright cooed and nuzzled Gemma's hair before pecking violently at the air. "What is he doing?" whispered Gemma. Kingsley laughed.

"He may be slightly schizoaffective," he said, stroking the owl's head. "Of course, most owls are."

"Hmm," said Gemma, trying to ignore Fulbright's bizarre attempts at eating light. "Oh-kay. When should I leave?"

"Now, actually," said Kingsley. "I have a portkey prepared for your departure."

Gemma sighed and followed him to an empty bottle of beer lying in the garden. "Delightful," she said, stepping down. "Bye, King."

He nodded, and as she touched the bottle, she felt herself whirl away from the pleasant garden and onto the grounds of the manor.

 **so sorry for short chapter but i hate the college dynamic. all i do is sleep and go on craigslist in search of shitty min. wage jobs. I LOVE ADULTHOOD.**

 **anyway, i'll try to upd8 within the week. bless.**


	5. Low Key Fuckery

**hey, folks**

 **i'm sorry for not updating right away, but i've been super busy with mental health stuff and college. gotta love recurring depressive episodes!**

 **Anyway, I need OCs. They will be used sparingly and will definitely be killed off within the chapters they are announced, but if anyone is interested in seeing their OC get brutally mauled by werewolves, please PM me.**

~ **Gemma** ~

As always, the manor had the essence of omnipotence ridicule, and even as she stood in the surrounding gardens with their perfected topiary and white peacocks, Gemma felt unease trickle through her cranium. Fulbright, on the other hand, hooted loudly and head-butted her shoulder aggressively. "Stop that," she muttered, brain still a tangled mess from the Portkey experience. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed, emotionally preparing herself for the inglorious experiences to come, and walked towards the main entrance.

It was going to be difficult-she already had known that much-but she still was angry with Shacklebolt, with the lack of warning, with the fact that she _actually_ had to do something worthwhile for a brief moment. None of this really dawned on her, though, because Fulbright was still aggressively nudging her and cooing inconsolably. "Please," she said, and a wave of exhaustion washed over her as she realized that she would probably never learn how to knit from Andromeda, or really anyone for that matter. Normalcy-the one thing that she truly craved-was so far out of reach that she felt despair, and as she knocked at the doors, she tried not to start blubbering like an infant.

There was a brief minute of silence, and then the door swung open. Draco was standing there, his perpetual boredom taken aback for the moment as he realized who was standing at the door. "Oh," he said dumbly, blinking his almond shaped gray eyes. "It's you."

"Yep," said Gemma, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. Fulbright was irritatingly heavy, and she wondered if she would ever get used to his claws sinking into her sweater. "I'm back."

"I can see that much," said Draco, emulating some kind of emotion that she could not comprehend. "Come in."

"Anything for you," said Gemma, winking despite her anxiety. She strode into the hallway with confidence that she had not yet earned and began to glance at the pale faced portraits, noticing them for the first time. "Who are these guys?"

"My deceased relatives," said Draco flatly, not letting anything be detected. "Where were you? Everyone has been worried sick."

"Prostituting myself in the red light district," she drawled, grinning. "My body has been tainted by cocaine and semen."

"Very funny," said Draco, sighing noncommittally. "You should prepare yourself, just as a warning. Aunt Bella has been…odd."

"More murderous than usual?"

"No. If anything, she has been _easy_ to deal with," Draco said, the dim candlelight illuminating his features. "I blame the depression, but really, she hasn't even come to the meals."

"Weird," said Gemma, feeling the beginnings of a tension headache work its way through her cerebellum. "That's…unsettling."

He frowned at her, looked at the great swinging doors of the living room, and sighed deeply. "Just don't say anything stupid."

Gemma nodded, unwilling to believe that anything she did wasn't, and they opened the doors.

.

…

.

~ **Bellatrix** ~

.

…

.

She still felt dead when Narcissa opened her door. "Bella, wake up!" she said, her tone riddled with childlike enthusiasm. "Gemma's back!"

Bellatrix rolled to her left and blinked. "Okay."

"Bella?" She could almost hear the disapproval, and it was irksome. "She _wants_ to see you."

Bellatrix closed her eyes, tried to picture some brighter version of the future. "Mmmhm."

A sigh. "I'll send her up, then."

The door slammed and Bellatrix stared at her fingernails, wondering how they could've gotten so dirty when she hadn't really done anything in weeks. Her mind kept running through scenarios that she didn't want to go back to: the Dark Lord's stinging insults, ejaculate oozing down her thighs, the non-feeling, the _void_. He hadn't spoken to her since their last encounter (unusual) or even emerged from his chamber (very strange). It was almost as if he wasn't even there to begin with, and this thought was so discomfiting that she felt her stomach roll in anxiety.

Her depression-something that she had barely had time for in her youth-was brittle, a creature of glass that smashed easily and then repopulated from every fragment. It crawled through her head, a demonic force, and caused her to be agitated and horrible to everyone, but she couldn't stop it. It was like something was giving her little hints that certain activities, although terrible, would be rewarding, if only shortly. So she acted upon them, over and over, impulses controlling her very core, and she debated whether or not anything was worth doing at all.

"Mum?"

Bellatrix turned back to face the door and saw her standing there, her curly hair wet from the rain, an enormous owl sitting on her shoulder. She didn't _look_ particularly happy, but she didn't seem to have the casual air of arrogance, either. If anything, she was calm in demeanor, and as she sat down on the edge of the bed, the owl hopped off of her shoulder and fluttered to the desk.

"So," said Gemma, swallowing. "I'm sorry for running away."

"You ran away," said Bellatrix, staring at the ceiling. There were an interesting assortment of stains and cracks, most of them decorating her imagination with pictures of foxes and rabbits.

"Yeah, I kind of thought you might have noticed," said Gemma jokingly, lying down next to her. "But really. I'm sorry."

"I…" Bellatrix didn't know how to articulate herself with the elegance or poise that she had been trained for, so she gritted her teeth and let her features slacken. "I was worried."

"I'm sorry." Her arms-still chubby from prepubescent fat, but lined with muscles-wrapped around her chest, and Bellatrix realized that her daughter was hugging her. "I didn't mean to."

"I know," whispered Bellatrix, still frozen into one place.

There was a brief second of quiet, all to be heard consisting of their breathing and heartbeats. Suddenly, Gemma squeezed her close, head against her ribcage. "This is nice."

"I agree."

Another silence.

"Narcissa told me about the baby."

Bellatrix cringed and allowed her hand to stroke the hair that was hers in texture but more of Rodolphus in color.

"I'm sorry about that, too."

"It was probably going to happen anyway," said Bellatrix, holding her. "You were the third."

"The third?"

"There…there were two before you."

"Oh," said Gemma, her body stiff. "Wow."

"You were unexpected, to say the least," continued Bellatrix, her hands playing with her hair. "We thought nothing would happen. It just felt…unlikely. But then you happened, and I thought…well, I thought maybe they'd let me out to have you."

Gemma was quiet.

"I was stupid enough to believe they'd let out someone who was incredibly violent, just to have something that I wanted," she said, closing her eyes. "And I wish they would have. I wish you could've known your father, Gem. He was…wonderful."

"Uh-huh," said Gemma, nuzzling closer. "Tell me about him."

"He liked stupid jokes, and _really_ stupid pranks. We used to go out into London, and God, he would always take me to this really terrible pizzeria, and we'd order massive amounts of calzones, and then he'd make them fly into patron's heads," said Bellatrix, smiling at the thought. "And one time he jinxed a bunch of public toilets. That was disastrous."

"I can only imagine."

"…it's weird, though," said Bellatrix thoughtfully, looking down at her. "I never really…well, I knew that he loved me. That was inevitable. But I didn't really appreciate it until after."

They sighed simultaneously. Some things are just genetic, and timing was one of them in the Lestrange family.

.

...

.

 **SCREAMING**


	6. Ouija Boards & Anti-tragedies

**So, after a long interlude of me bashing the keyboard in mindless abandon, I finally have my two-room bungalow to myself. I can finally speak aloud while I write angsty passages about a character who really needs a metric fuckton of help and/or a slap to the face (due to the fact that Gemma originally was a self insert, then my wife, then my child, this matter is very complex and somewhat stupid when it comes to banter. God. I fucking** ** _love_** **banter.).**

 **Enjoy.**

.

…

.

On one particularly cold day, three months into the entirety of low-key acting as a spy and trying to understand the ethics of a certain Pureblood family, Gemma decided that it was time to have an introspective self-psychoanalytical session conducted by and for herself. In more modern terminology, what she was preparing consisted of the use of an old and decrepit Ouija board, something that never ended well when she lived with Wulfric Lestrange, seeing as usually some form of spiritual horseshit occurred, usually in the shape of screaming banshee like hallucinations. However, today was going to be different, because A.) she was not living in the woods, B.) the Ouija board (which was rather ancient and carved from various forms of cherry and spruce) had been given to her by her mother, and C.) she had a boxful of runes from times that were all but lost on the minds of mortals. Such discrepancies were not lost on the girl; after all, the mere notion of the supernatural mystique was enough to power her through her pain and potentially invert her misfortune unto the eldritch terrors spoken of by her grandfather, whose presence had become more mysterious and vulnerable to discourse over the time Gemma had lived in the manor.

On a lighter note, Kingsley Shacklebolt had sent several letters in response to her findings, which although generic in form, were useful for the time being. Her cousin, for example, was pregnant-a fact that elated Gemma, seeing as Tonks was completely fantastic and Lupin was the male equivalent. As a dialectic, however, tensions were brewing within the Ministry, and although there wasn't much knowledge flowing from the entrails of the departments, Gemma could sense from Kingsley's signature bold ink that something was suspected in a darker, more succulent to the secretiveness kind of way.

But to really begin, on that morning in late November, our heroine was still completely enamored with the fact that she could now actually perform a Patronus charm that did not consist solely of light.

"Fantastic," drawled Bellatrix behind her, but Gemma knew that she was smiling. They had been working on that spell for what felt like ages. Tears had been spent over the engulfing need to be protected from the darkness, but now, a silvery but definite lioness pounced from one corner of the room to the next, throwing back her head in a roar. "Well done."

Gemma grinned and put the wand back into her jacket pocket. "Are you excited for later?"

She was referring to, of course, the late night rendezvous that had become a habit between Bellatrix and Narcissa. Their laughter, a result from the high content of hard liquor, drowned out any pain between them, and Gemma, although only fifteen, desperately wanted to join in. Something about how the bottles of fire whiskey glistened in the cupboard off of the kitchen awakened some form of aging alcoholic inside of her. The desire to dull the pain was too much.

"I'm actually not going to partake in the festivities tonight," smirked Bellatrix, plucking a feather out of Gemma's hair. "I haven't been feeling that well."

Gemma narrowed her eyebrows. "As in?"

Bellatrix sighed and looked mournful for a fraction of a second. "It's probably just that curse that hit me when I was dueling last week…you never know."

There was a moment of silence between them: despite their relationship growth in the last few months, it still felt strained for obvious reasons. Bellatrix was unpredictable and had extremely self-destructive lows, but she still had bouts of near manic delight, something that terrified and elated Gemma. She sometimes wondered if it was genetic-if maybe, in a different world, her mother would have had some kind of treatment for all of her emotional outbursts, which were clearly a sign of something-but that was wishful thinking, and whatever damage had been done had been inflicted long before recovery was possible.

"Well, anyway," said Gemma, trying to alleviate the tension in the room. "I'm going to mess around with spirits and whatnot. See you later."

"Likewise," said Bellatrix, her smile full frontal. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Sure," called Gemma as she walked up the spiral staircase towards the tiny alcove in the attic. Technically, her newfound place of residence was the cupola-a small domed room above everything else in the manor, and most definitely the most aesthetically pleasing area on the residence. She had taken to growing cacti and succulents in the midst, her bed directly in the center of the tiny room, books stacked high on shelves. She felt like she was at a kind of peace when she was alone, no noises except for her inhalations and the soft cooing of Fulbright, who was constantly shifting his head to see her better with his enormous pink eyes. She drew her overtly expensive curtains, lit some cheap incense that she had bought on a trip to a convenience store in a village close by, and removed the Ouija board from its home (which, despite being a cardboard box, was pretty damn fancy). "Okay," she breathed, placing the tip of her wand against the board, wondering exactly what she should do. "Am I alone?"

Her wand began to drag from one place to the next.

 _N-O_

"Well, then," said Gemma, smiling nervously. She hadn't really expected the dramatic pull from one letter to the next, but then again, she hadn't really expected to be a witch, either. "Are you, whomever I am speaking to, someone I know?"

 _Y-E-S_

Gemma swallowed and wondered if asking the next question was really necessary. "Granddad?"

 _I A-M H-E-R-E_

"Holy fuck," she said, blinking back tears. "Are you okay?"

 _I A-M D-E-A-D A-R-E Y-O-U D-A-F-T_

Gemma burst out laughing. Typical of her grandfather to be a capricious old fart even in the afterlife. "Fine. I'm really sorry."

 _Y-O-U S-H-O-U-L-D-N-T B-E D-A-R-L-I-N-G_

"Alright. Just as a precursor, you're not going to start haunting me or anything, right?"

 _B-E-I-N-G P-R-E-D-I-C-T-A-B-L-E I-S N-O-T M-Y F-O-R-T-E_

"That's a bit discomfiting," admitted Gemma, wincing at the idea of having her grandfather float around the house without her knowledge. "Actually, it's a bit terrifying, to be honest."

 _D-O-N-T B-E A-F-R-A-I-D O-F S-O-M-E-O-N-E W-H-O C-A-R-E-S D-E-A-R_

"Once again, Granddad, is this some sort of attempt to get me to bond with Bellatrix? I mean. Obviously not, but as stated previously, you _are_ quite capricious."

 _G-E-M-M-A T-H-A-T I-S S-T-U-P-I-D_

"No duh!"

 _I H-A-V-E T-O G-O_

"Fine. Do you have to attend to business in the afterlife?"

There wasn't an answer, and suddenly, her wand felt like it was back in her control. "Well, then," she said, shaking her head. Some things were just too weird for that early in the morning, and with a trembling hand, she placed the board back into the box, shoved it underneath her bed, and opened the curtains. Fulbright winced and pecked her on the arm as she did so, aggressively attracted to the fake night. "Stop it, you butt."

Standing up, Gemma wondered briefly if there were any other dumb rules that she was in danger of breaking, and she quietly stepped out of the cupola and descended the stairs.

.

…

.

Later that evening, Narcissa was indeed the only one drinking. Gemma watched her uncomfortably, because once the activity was solitary, it almost seemed rather sad. Bellatrix was off doing who knows what, along with Lucius and Draco, and except for the few groans from the basement, there really wasn't any dialogue passed between the two of them. "Funny, how things happen," said Narcissa after about fifteen minutes of staring into the bottom of a bottle of imported champagne. Her words were slightly slurred, and her eyes were nearly half shut, the eye shadow creating a smoky, far too desirable effect. Gemma fidgeted in response: after all, the recent discovery of her preferences wasn't exactly something to be applied to her aunt. "Want some fire whiskey, love?"

Gemma immediately swallowed and reached for a forty-ounce bottle that was dusty with age. "Or course," she mumbled, uncorking the beverage with some difficulty and taking a gulp. Almost instantaneously, a burn ripped through her throat, the awful taste only quenched by the warmth. It was hot and addictive and Gemma knew that if she were to die young, this would be a contributing factor. "God."

Narcissa laughed, more of a giggle than anything else, and licked her lips. "Tastes like golden ichor, doesn't it?" she asked, swaying back and forth in her seat. "Y'know…we have some of that."

"Ichor?" asked Gemma, who was already feeling the affects of the whiskey start to override her system. "Like…Zeus stuff?"

Narcissa leaned in close to her niece and grinned, her breath tainted with the scent of a cocktail (pun _very_ much intended) of interesting and potentially illegal substances. "The gods' nectar," she whispered. "It tastes like…I dunno how to explain it properly."

"I, yeah," stuttered Gemma, her head dizzy as she swallowed some more whiskey. "You should get that. Now."

Narcissa haphazardly took her wand out of her skirt pocket and waved it indolently. " _Accio_ , um, gimme a sec. _Accio_ _nectar_!"

There was the sound of cupboards opening and shutting, and suddenly, a long, elegantly shaped bottle that had a slightly pearly glow was waiting on the table, two shot glasses floating next to it. Narcissa laughed again, and Gemma wondered if this was really going to be worth it before she decided that she was already a mess and that there wasn't going to be any fixing. Narcissa was handing a shot glass, and she drank before realizing that it felt like an explosion of honey was dripping down her throat. She tried to speak, but her mouth was too slow to explain the wonderful things that she had discovered with the help of the ichor. Her brain was exploding, crawling out her skull and sprouting wings before fluttering around the room, constricted by her nerve endings. She knew that she was hallucinating, but it was far too beautiful and horrific to really register the imaginative qualities that had overtaken her mind.

Staring at the ceiling, Gemma was aware of the fact that Narcissa was laughing and crying at once, and time sped up and slowed down very quickly before the doors of the manor opened (how she was aware of this, she had no idea) and her mother, along with her uncle, cousin, and Voldemort, rushed in, exchanging conversations lightly, unaware of what was going on in the kitchen.

For a brief second, she could see her grandfather smiling knowingly, her father standing next to him, shaking his head in disappointment. All of this was oddly satisfactory, however, because as party reached the kitchen, Gemma saw Bellatrix drop something and slap Narcissa across the face. _Where am I_? Gemma wondered from her omnipotent viewpoint, her eyes stinging and she debated with herself on a grand cosmic scale. Obviously, she wasn't quite dead (yet?) but she didn't see herself from the bird's eye view, just everything and everyone at once. But suddenly, she realized that she was heading down, zooming through the atmosphere and crashing back into reality, her head pounding with the early symptoms of a hangover, and as she blinked, taking in the all too painful morning light, she was back inside of her body and very much ill. Vomit upheaved from her stomach, gold and glittery in color, and Gemma decided that she was either incredibly magical now or very, _very_ sick. She couldn't even register that she was covered in her own sick before It was magicked off, and she saw Bellatrix looking drained as she sat next to her. "Why did you _drink_ that?" she asked, but sleep was imminent.

.

…

.

Finally, the silence had broken, and Gemma was aware again of everything around her-or at least everything in the peripheral view. There were a few cards on her bedside, and Bellatrix was nodding off next to her. "Mum," she whispered, and her mother woke up, startled. "Mum, my throat."

"Gemma, you're _awake_ ," said Bellatrix, smiling despite the pronounced circles underneath her eyes. "God, it's been a week!"

"A week?" asked Gemma, reaching for water. "Since what?"

"Do you remember anything?"

"Um, not really," she murmured, gasping as the ice cold water slipped down her throat. "Ugh. Did I have the flu or something?"

"Not in the slightest," said Bellatrix, checking her pulse. "You drank ichor. Horrible idea."

"Why?" asked Gemma, details flowing back. "I had fire whiskey and that wasn't bad."

"Gemma, ichor is literally the _most_ intoxicating hallucinogenic beverage that has ever existed in the history of Europe," said Bellatrix, her voice harshened by worry. "For the love of God, it dates pre history. If you honestly thought that you would consume as much as you did and live…I don't even know. What were you thinking?!"

"Technically, Narcissa offered, and I accepted," said Gemma, smiling weakly. "I saw the cosmos."

"I don't doubt it," said her mother, sighing and slumping a little in her chair. "I…I was so worried. People have died from that, and you're so small-"

"Am _not_."

"You're shorter than Cissy, so you're small," said Bellatrix languidly. "Thinking about it, you kind of have my mother's build. Tiny thing."

"Gah," said Gemma, slinking underneath her covers. "I'm sorry I'm not towering over everyone like _you_."

"Biology is ridiculous," said her mother, obviously considering something. "Speaking of biology, however, I have a bit of news for you."

Gemma nodded, closing her eyes slightly and parting her lips. "Mmm?"

Bellatrix touched her hand, very lightly. "I'm pregnant."

Instantly, Gemma sat up, almost getting whiplash from her reaction time. " _What_?"

"Yes," she said, smiling a little smugly. "I found out two days ago. Apparently I'm about three months along."

"Um," said Gemma, still reeling. "Aren't you, I don't know, old?"

Bellatrix shrugged and kissed her on the cheek. "Let's just go with 'magic'."

"Seriously, though," said Gemma, trying not to freak out. Her mother did appear to be not as pointlessly thin; if anything, she almost looked voluptuous, her breasts pushing against her robes, hips slightly widened. Was her hair thicker, or was this just another hallucination? "How? Like…oh my God, Mum, who are you fucking?"

"Please refrain from using such vulgarities in my delicate condition," smirked Bellatrix. Something, however, was giving it completely away. "As you know, I am attempting to be complacent with my servitude of the Dark Lord-"

"Oh my _God_."

"-and despite his previous lack of a need, an heir would be a nice addition-"

"Mum. _Stop_."

"-after all, I've always _wanted_ another child, and if all goes well, you'll have a sibling in May-"

" _Mum_ ," coughed Gemma, internally dying from the mere imagery of her mother copulating with Lord Voldemort. "Please. _Never_ again."

Bellatrix laughed and kissed her on the forehead. "Of course." She stood up and began to leave the room when Gemma coughed again. "Yes?"

"Um. Congratulations?"

She smiled and Gemma tried to bleach her brain of any remaining horror.

.

…

.

 **oh yes. happy chapter, with drugs. i…I am so proud.**

 **Look! Nobody died this chapter! NOT ONE character! And yet the plot still advanced! Holy SHIT!**

 **BTW friends, I'm starting a few polls on my page if you are interested in helping develop the plot. Yeah. intense. Super. Wow.**

 **But really, I love you, but mainly those of you who review, because I am a slut for 'good work update'. 3**


	7. Rex Duodecim Angelus

**I'm tired but I also have consumed about two liters worth of caffeine (a metric fuckton, if we're going off of reasonable measurements).**

 **This chapter, BTW, gets its title from a song on the Homestuck album 'Alterniabound'. If you haven't read Homestuck, please don't, because it will consume your very existence. Anyway, the song is worth a listen! Good shit, right there.**

 **Anywho, let the games begin.**

.

…

.

"This is incredibly depressing, and I _hope_ you have the human decency to know why."

Gemma shrugged, took another sip of fire whiskey, and flipped off her cousin.

She and Draco were standing outside in the garden, and she was already somewhere between slightly drunk and completely inebriated. Ever since the ichor incident, she had been feeling rather off when it came to anything non-alcohol related. It was probably stupid and definitely the early sign of addiction, but she didn't really care. Some things are just out of our control, after all, and Gemma's descent into the depths of psychological terror was just one of them.

Draco sighed and slumped over on one of the extensive chairs littering the garden. "God, Gemma, you're fifteen. Don't become some wino already."

"Why not?" smirked Gemma, grinning. "It's not like it'll change the world."

"Yeah, it's going to change _you_ ," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "You're just…don't ruin yourself."

"Whatever," said Gemma. She wanted to dance or do something really stupid with tons of consequences, and nothing really seemed to be reasonable until a certain beautiful idea exploded somewhere in her prefrontal cortex. "Oh my God!"

"What?"

"We should go to Hogwarts," said Gemma with a massive, unprecedented grin stretching her violet painted lips. She had recently taken to smearing makeup on her face, a mask that she could wash off at night. "I mean, I've never been, and it sounds utterly amazing, and-"

"That's stupid, Gemma."

"Draco. Hogwarts."

"Gemma. You don't know anything about that place."

"Well, come one! It's not like we'll die or anything!"

"It's different then what it used to be," he said, but he already had extended an arm. "We'll go to Hogsmeade. Do not tell anyone who you are."

"Whatever," said Gemma, linking hands.

.

…

.

Hogsmeade was nothing like what she expected. For one, it was completely dark, and signs were broken and she just felt cold walking down the empty streets. A lone Death Eater was on patrol-he nodded when he saw Draco and cocked his head at Gemma. "Who's that?" he asked, a low growl emitting from behind his silver mask. "You found another slut, Malfoy?"

"Piss off," said Draco, tugging Gemma along before she could release a slew of insults. "Just ignore him."

They walked along a path for several minutes leading out of town and down to the docks. "I dunno if the boats are running still, but the protective shields over the school won't let us Apparate in," said Draco, frowning at the moon. "Gah. I wonder how Crabbe's doing…"

"Crabbe?" asked Gemma, jiggling the locks on the door of the boathouse. "How-"

" _Alohomora_ ," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "He's a friend."

"Like, a friend, or a _friend_?"

"I'm not a faggot, Gemma."

The words stung, but Gemma carried on. "Hey, I knew to some extent that you wouldn't necessarily be accepting of anything out of the norm, but really? That was slightly uncalled for."

"Whatever," said Draco, wincing. "They're almost as bad as Mudbloods."

 _Note to self: never be gay in the presence of the family._ Gemma swallowed and sat down in a rowboat. "Can you detect whether or not the charm thing is working?"

"It is," said Draco in a voice barely above a whisper, biting his lower lip in anticipation. "Just be quiet and don't do anything stupid."

"No guarantees on the last one," smirked Gemma, looking up at the star-studded stratosphere. "Huh. It's really…clear."

"Magic," said Draco simply, and the boat began to swiftly make progress towards the shore of the island. "Just as a forewarning, we're either going to be greeted with fear or loyalty depending on who we see."

"Why fear?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Oh. Right."

"Anyway, watch out for the renegades," he continued, staring at the depths of the water. "There's rumor that another DA is starting up. Do not, under any circumstances, tell our parents about them."

"Why?"

Draco sighed again, this time with slightly more exasperation. "Because. As known by any slightly sane person, your mother will immediately report the advancement of the rebellion to her one victim of bedroom eyes, and then the whole operation will be taken down before it's barely started."

"Wait," said Gemma, leaning forward, "are you telling me that you actually want there to be progress with the rebellion?"

Draco didn't answer.

"Oh my God," said Gemma, grinning. "This. _This_ is the plot twist that I've been waiting for in my shitty life."

"I'm sure it is," said Draco, steadying himself. "Don't freak out, but we're here."

They pulled the boat up onto the shore, securing it about ten feet away from the waves before Draco continued yet another diatribe about the good and the bad of Hogwarts. "Don't go to the Hufflepuff house," he said plainly. "Just avoid it and its occupants at all costs. And please, please, _please_ don't try anything in our house. Please. I really can't stress how I feel."

" _Our_ house?" asked Gemma, raising a single eyebrow. "I didn't know that I was a Slytherin."

"I'm just going off of assumption," said Draco, but the question had officially stirred something inside of her.

"How can we be sure that I'm a Slytherin?"

"I mean, there's the Sorting Hat, but-"

"The what?"

"The Sorting Hat. It's like…I don't know, a magical hat that figures out your personality and then proceeds to sort you into one of four houses."

"Can I try it on?"

"Um…no."

"How sure are you? Because, Draco? You sound really unsure."

"It's in the headmaster's office, and besides, the whole point of this trip is to not be caught by authorities, and Snape would report us _immediately_."

"Man up, Malfoy!" exclaimed Gemma. "Let's steal the hat."

"What?"

"Come on! I want to know what house I'm in!"

"Gemma, that's so stupid! We could get caught and then the Dark Lord will absolutely flip his shit!"

"Well, _screw_ him!"

Gemma began to storm, predictably due to the amount of whiskey and teenage angst in her system. Draco followed, quipping nervously about how she really needed to calm the fuck down. However, in her drunken rage, Gemma had decided that there was no going back from this extremely important moment in her existence. If anything, it was a sign that she really, really needed to steal that hat, if only for a moment.

The Great Hall was empty, which was honestly slightly anticlimactic in the grand scheme of things. Gemma had almost expected there to be several throes of cliques just working their way around the social banter of life, but instead, the hall was cold and grey, a sense of foreboding foreshadowing tainting the dusty air. "Well, this is…something," said Gemma, balancing uneasily on a table. "Hey, do you think I can run on this thing?"

"Please don't," said Draco, and for once in her life, Gemma decided to obey his wishes. "If you're really serious about stealing this hat, it's upstairs. I'm going to the Slytherin common room."

"You're just _leaving_ me?" asked Gemma, stepping down from the table. "What the hell, Draco? That is incredibly irresponsible!"

"This whole damned thing is irresponsible," said Draco, frowning. "I have absolutely no desire to deal with your immaturity, so have fun getting lost yourself."

Gemma grumbled and watched as he left the hall. She waited a moment before dashing out into the hallway, running her fingers through her thick hair and grinning before she ran down the length of one hallway before turning down another. It almost felt mazelike, she thought briefly before coming across a large, ornate set of doors. "What…"

She stepped closer, and she could hear laughter from the other side. Someone was most definitely engaging in some sort of frivolous activities, and she was far too interested to not come in.

She knocked three times in rapid succession before anyone answered. The boy who finally did was tall and lanky with an assortment of bruises covering his face. "Who are you?" he asked, narrowing his eyebrows and taking her in. "You don't look familiar."

"Um," said Gemma, but someone behind him called out.

"Neville, if she could find the door, she obviously needs some kind of assistance!"

Neville rolled his eyes and smiled hugely. "Fine, you're probably good!" he said, letting her in and quickly slamming the door behind her. "I'm Neville Longbottom."

Gemma swallowed. This was surreal-mainly due to the fact that there were several dozens of students, or at least people who she _assumed_ to be students, standing around and eating food and practicing spells while dingy alternative music played from a stereo. And, you know, the fact that the child of the people her mother had permanently disabled on multiple levels was standing in front of her. "Gemma," she said, sticking out her hand. "Gemma Wulfric."

"Wulfric?" asked a girl with honey red hair and large brown eyes. There was certain hardness to her expression, but Gemma felt the need to gasp and maybe even lean out brush her hand against hers. "I've never heard that surname at sortings."

"I'm not from here," said Gemma, quickly trying to find any way possible to cover up. "Um…I studied at Castelobruxo."

"You did?" asked Neville, eyes widening. "Holy shit. That's…enviable."

"Um, my dad wanted me to go," said Gemma. "For science."

"Legitimate reason," said Neville, who leaned back. "Ginny, can you prepare another hammock? Might as well."

Ginny sighed and squinted. "Anything for you, Neville."

Gemma cleared her throat. "Look. I don't really want to stay here, due to…um…circumstances, but it would be excellent if you could just show me where the sorting hat is?"

Neville raised a single eyebrow. "You…don't know how the Room of Requirement works, do you?"

Gemma shrugged.

"Well, you need the sorting hat," said Neville, putting his hands up in defense. "Not going to judge, we all have our vices. But…you just kind of ask, and it appears."

"What?"

"Just try it," sighed Neville, walking towards a large painting on the wall. "Talk to me if anything weird happens."

Gemma stared at her hands. "I need the Sorting Hat," she said, and suddenly, she was holding an ugly, mottled looking hat that had definitely seen far better days. " _Sweet_."

She glanced over her shoulder and slipped out of the room. The doors seemingly turned into stone behind her, and she grinned hugely before running off into an abandoned classroom. "Okay," she said, staring at the hat. "Let's do this."

Carefully, she placed it on her head.

Nothing.

"C'mon. Please?" she asked, trembling with the anticipation of potentially being a Slytherin. She didn't necessarily want to be, but it would certainly make things easier in the long run. "I mean if you don't want to-"

"You're a bit old for this, don't you think?" asked something directly above her in a leathery, over used voice. "I _completely_ sympathize with your apparent desire to understand more about yourself, yadda-yadda, sentimental material ahead, but do you _really_ want to know what you are?"

"No _duh,"_ said Gemma, closing her eyes. "Just _tell_ me!"

"You're impatient," said the hat. "Irritated with your life. Brave, though. You have guts, kid."

Gemma was silent, and the hat continued.

"You're a tricky one…normally I'd just go for the obvious, what you want, but you need a struggle. You _desire_ it, I think. A little bit of a masochist, eh?" the hat chuckled. "But you evidently want some kind of validation. Typical, among kids, but still. Why can't the lot of you be _slightly_ more original?"

"Whatever," said Gemma, rolling her eyes under the hat. "Can you just damn me with a title so I don't have to freak out and have an existential crisis?"

"Sure, you little brat," grumbled the hat. "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Sorting Hat was completely silent after that, and Gemma swallowed before realizing that she could never tell anyone. "Huh," she said, taking off the hat and placing it next to her. When it wasn't talking, it was almost ridiculous in appearance, a piece of baggy fabric. "How…lovely…"

She was shaking, having a not so internal freak out. "Oh my God."

.

…

.

The sun was just starting to peek past the horizon when she decided to tell him. Always with a flair for the theatrical, Bellatrix rose that morning and decided to wear white for the second time in her life, as if the virginal fabric could wash away everything wrong with the situation at hand.

His bedroom was located on the lower level of the house, hidden away from the rest of the activity and, as always, rather quiet. Bellatrix never really knew how to feel about the dark sort of aura that emulated from behind his door, but on that day, she didn't hesitate to knock, swallowing as the door swung open by itself. "My Lord?"

A melodramatic sigh was heard, and Nagini shifted closer by her feet. "What do you want, Bellatrix?"

"I have news concerning our latest engagement," said Bellatrix, trying to not come off as completely smug. If this was anything, it was victory: four months of secretive growth, her abdomen protruding slightly underneath her robes, breasts stinging with every movement. "If I am _not_ mistaken, I am pregnant."

She couldn't see his features in the shade, but something (motherly intuition, perhaps) told her that he was approaching the aforementioned issue with relative ease. "I am going to assume that it is mine."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Interesting."

He stood up, now completely visible in the eerie lighting, and stared pointedly at her belly. "An heir."

"Yes."

"A _boy_ ," he said, relishing in the statement, and Bellatrix's subconscious worry began in that exact moment. "He will be excellent."

Bellatrix nodded stiffly, her pale hand running against the taut fabric of her front, and tried to imagine a future where he would be loving and good and not completely bent on destruction. Alas, the fantastic can only last for seconds, because she quickly realized that her only hope of raising this child was to have a son-an heir of prodigal skill and nothing less. Of course, due to certain guesses and intuitive thinking, she could tell the difference between elusive fantasy and complete derangement, and for the first time since her thirties, Bellatrix Lestrange realized that she had to find a way to save her baby if it wasn't born with male genitalia. Nagini sensed her unease and stared at her before hissing something in Parseltongue. "Interesting," said Voldemort, smirking. "That's almost _fascinating_ , but let's hope that your assumption is merely speculation."

Bellatrix's shoulders sunk in posture and she hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind her and trying not to obsess.

.

…

.

Draco Malfoy was vomiting into a waste bin when his cousin entered the Slytherin common room, hair disheveled and acting as the embodiment of pissed off. "Draco, we're leaving," she said, crossing her arms against her chest and sniffing the air with some kind of newfound arrogance. "What are you even _doing_?"

He tried to blink and come up with a slightly okay response but puked again. Crabbe and Goyle had an oddly large amount of access to fire whiskey, and he had overestimated his actual resistance to poisoning. They were currently passed out on the couches, drool bubbling from Crabbe's mouth, Goyle curled into a fetal position as he snored on the minute. "Gemma, please," he said, wiping the back of his mouth with his sleeve. "We've barely been here for an hour-"

"You _idiot_ , it's daybreak," hissed Gemma, pulling him up by the collar with strength unusual for her stature. "And honestly, you of all people to get wasted…God."

"Oh, _shit_ ," muttered Draco, standing up uneasily, grasping onto Gemma's shoulder for support. "Oh, God, Mum is going to _freak_ …"

"Huh, I had no idea!" exclaimed Gemma, eyes widened in the height of being freaked out. "Let's just get _out_ of here."

"Shit," repeated Draco listlessly, staring at his hands while his head spun. "Ugh, this is so stupid…I don't think I can Apparate like this."

Gemma turned around, her face flushed. " _What_."

"Seriously, Gemma, I feel terrible."

"That is so…fucking…stupid."

"I know," gulped Draco, leaning back down towards the bin. "Oh, God…"

Gemma waited impatiently as he emptied the final contents of his stomach, rolling her eyes and wishing for some form of salvation. "Finished?"

"Barely."

"Great. How can we get out of here?"

Draco blinked a little fuzzily. "Well, we could get Snape to do it."

"Snape."

"Yeah?"

"The headmaster, who we've been _avoiding_ all night, is the one who is going to _help_ us."

"Sure," said Draco, almost blindly as he stood up yet again. "Snape's cool."

Gemma, at this point, was quivering with rage. "Are you meaning to tell me," she said in a voice barely above a whisper, "that you think we'll actually get out of this situation unscathed?"

"I dunno," said Draco, and Gemma's fist connected with his face at light speed. " _Fuck_!"

Gemma began to storm out of the room, and he had no choice but to follow, holding his nose where it had been inevitably broken. "What was _that_ for?"

She didn't answer, only brushed past the students emerging from classrooms, eyes burning with pure, unadulterated fury. Draco shoved past a first year. "Gemma, come on!"

"Hey, it's Malfoy!" shouted someone from across the hall, and he blinked before ignoring him and rushing after his cousin. "Draco, where are you headed?"

At this point, Gemma was just another girl shoving through the crowd, and Draco tried to run towards her before he slammed into a teacher. "Oh," he said, nose still dripping blood. "Hello, Professor Snape."

"Draco," said Snape, glaring at him with an expression set on ' _annihilate'_. "You aren't supposed to be here."

"It's kind of a funny story," admitted Draco, glancing over his shoulder. "Um. I really have to get going."

"One moment," said Snape, narrowing his eyebrows. "I believe you were looking for someone?"

"Uh, yeah," said Draco with false cheer. "You know. My cousin? The one that my aunt was searching for like a crazy person?"

"That is debatable," said Snape. "Given Bellatrix's temperament, anything remotely out of the box is possible. Then again, I'm not really sure I want to be informed of- _Draco Malfoy_. You utterly _reek_ of fire whiskey."

Draco shrugged. "Yeah."

"To my office. Now."

"But, Professor-"

"We'll handle the issue of Lestrange later," he growled, signaling him to follow. "If you were still a student here, you would be expelled, even with the issue of your servitude to the Dark Lord."

.

…

.

Gemma stared at her fingernails and did not speak.

They found her approximately an hour after her disappearance into the hallways, a depressed little wreck of a drunk, trying desperately to overcome her now confirmed house. She sat next to Draco and across from Snape, who stared her down with complete authority. "So," he continued, sipping his tea nonchalantly as if nothing of a serious matter had occurred. "You are, I take it, not remorseful?"

Gemma sighed and looked Snape in the eyes. "Unlike my mother, Professor, I am capable of some sense of empathy."

"Hmm," he said simply, looking at her with an interested expression. "That's interesting."

"Definitely."

They continued to stare at each other. Draco finally cleared his throat and the tension was broken, if not completely alleviated. "You may Apparate home from this location," said Snape, glaring at Draco, "however, your parents will be informed of your discrepancies and general disregard for school property. Do not expect any sort of special treatment, Lestrange."

Gemma rolled her eyes.

Draco stood up and grasped Gemma's forearms, biting his lower lip in frustration. "Bye, Professor," he said, gulping. "Thanks for the antidote for the whiskey."

Snape nodded, and Gemma felt the sucking sensation once more. When they arrived, back in the garden, stumbling slightly, she couldn't help but laugh at the obscurity of it all.

It just wasn't fair.

 **y'all should answer the poll on my page, because i love you.**

 **3**


	8. author's notean explanation

hey guys-

it's been a wild few months, and i'm truthfully very sorry about not updating consistently and not really writing at all, for that matter. i've been using on different accounts for about eight years now, an even though most of it has been great, i've made the decision to ultimately switch over to AO3/working on my own creative endeavors. i dunno, it just feels like the work i've published here (and on my equally shitty alt!account) is a reflection of something that i never really was [i.e., some kid who did kid things]. to be completely honest, i've been using fic as a coping skill for that shitty thing called 'mental illness' since i was eleven. fantasizing about other worlds, writing my own endings-i just really needed that control.

alas! i'm not going to leave _without_ giving away the end! (i actually spent quite a lot of time planning how i wanted to go forth with 'all but lost', which has been a dear concept to me ever since the original iteration of gemma was created by the one and only SEN)

everybody who dies in canon dies in this fic. so...voldemort dies (cool) and bellatrix dies (too bad?)

gemma eventually meets up with the golden trio and sort of stares at hermione all the time. ron thinks she's weird, harry is unnerved by her, and hermione is really annoyed by the kid who decided at random to tag along. there was a story arc, somewhere, about sexuality and self-acceptance, blah blah blah, but i never got that far into the middle part (just the end? god damn it)

there was supposed to be some really gay hermione/gemma stuff, not gonna lie. basically, towards the end of their journey, they got all weird and gooey and gemma misread a lot of signals and wound up kissing her. this resulted in a magic no-homo, so gemma went a bit...batshit crazy.

which leads to her literally damning the three to getting dragged to malfoy manor, because fifteen year old kids are emotional af.

meanwhile, bellatrix is having the worst pregnancy experience ever. like, terrible x10. she has no fucking idea what she's doing and it's bad (so basically, instead of actively torturing hermione, she uses the imperious curse on her own _kid,_ which essentially sends all of the mother/daughter feels they had been working on up until that point to the grave.

TL;DR, gemma is possessed by her mom and tortures her crush

when the trio escape malfoy manor, everything goes to shit super quickly. because of (laziness) really shitty spellwork, bellatrix sort of...doesn't release gemma from the imperio spell on time-about a minute late. this results in a chandelier basically crushing most of her bones while her romantic interest is screaming a few feet away.

bellatrix actually feels guilt? which doesn't excuse her from possessing her kid and giving her really disgusting scars and broken bones, but hey. A+ character development right there, folks.

anyway, gemma is pretty much dead for the month and a half between malfoy manor and the battle of hogwarts. lots of skelegro, lots of ill-fated attempts at getting rid of all the marks left by the crystals, but the kid is broken by the whole experience. she stops talking to everyone and just sleeps, taking tiny diluted sips of fire whiskey and crying about her grandfather.

in mid april, bella has the kid. unfortunately for her, it's a girl. even _more_ unfortunately for her, gemma decides that she's had it with the entirety of the manor and the dark arts, and she decides that her biological mother is the actual definition of an unfit parent [plus she low key hears LV ranting about what he would do to a potential daughter-think donald trump, but with murder]. so from there, it's a set plan: gemma, now physically capable (but heavily scarred), literally walks into the room where the delivery is taking place and just...watches.

narcissa is freaked out. the healers are freaked out. bellatrix is freaked out.

finally, the kid is born. she's tiny, a bit too early, and is still cute for a newborn. bellatrix is overjoyed/terrified, and decides 'hey, let's have gemma hold the baby'

the kid is in her arms for all of five seconds before she apparates out of the building

chaos ensues

by which i mean bellatrix has to be physically restrained and then knocked out

the healers nervously tell LV that it was a 'stillbirth' so he, too, goes into a rage before beating the shit out of bellatrix and then blasting her memory into shreds

gemma, on the other hand, is in norway, with the baby she's decided to name 'sophie', because the kid looks super wise. their part of the story is done until the sexy epilogue that i never wrote.

so yeah. bellatrix erodes mentally in the last two weeks of her life, constantly remembering bits and pieces of her life but not really connecting the dots. she's a full on thrall of voldemort, the perfect servant, none of her own views getting in the way of her level of servitude.

voldemort is...himself.

narcissa falls further into alcoholism. lucius is just incredibly frightened, all the time, and draco-who finally knows what's right-just tries to stay out of the way.

then there was supposed to be a particularly poignant sequence about battle of hogwarts, told in the alternating views of current bellatrix and past bellatrix, who are two very different people. she dies. the curtains close.

...

but there's still the epilogue

sophie wulfric is seventeen. she lives with her older sister, who's had tattoos for as long as she can remember but still likes to cover them up with huge handknitted sweaters. her sister is pretty cool but still tries to maintain authority. when she was little, they were in and out of half way houses and lived in a tent for a while, but now they have a cool flat in london with an enormous, nameless cat.

soph has always been really interested in snakes, and sometimes she can hold conversations with them, but her sister acts like it's no big deal. like, whatever...as long as your stupid cornsnake isn't bitching about me, we're good

sophie likes to hear the stories about her grandfather, who was awesome, and how he fought a witch to his death.

sophie likes to hear the story of the guy who killed the magic hitler, whatever that means

sophie still has no idea where her sister got this stuff from and often suggests that she writes a book or something!

her sister consistently says no

TL;DR: sophie is a squib. gemma doesn't tell her any details about the wizarding world, because she would of course look up LV and then their mom (who soph is the spitting image of, just with blue eyes. gemma is glad genetics are weird) and that's generally too much for any kid to deal with.

so...anticlimax. idk. like as much as i like the concept of analyzing a character and adding more fictitious elements to what can be considered a somewhat blank space, it's always good to go full circle.

thank you for reading.

o3 ev


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